


Special

by days4daisy



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Also Multiple Orgasms, Episode: s09e06 Heaven Can't Wait, First Time Bottom...As A Human, Human Castiel, M/M, Season/Series 09, Tagging Supernatural Fic Is Way Too Hard Yall, confetti it's a parade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-16
Updated: 2014-11-16
Packaged: 2018-02-25 15:57:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2627591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/days4daisy/pseuds/days4daisy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the aftermath of the events at Nora's home, Castiel tells Dean to take him to the Gas-N-Sip. Dean doesn't.</p>
<p>--<br/>Takes Place during 09x06: Heaven Can't Wait</p>
            </blockquote>





	Special

Nora tells Steve that the part of him that overreacted, that cares so much, is what makes him special. She means it as a compliment.

But Steve is Castiel, and Castiel is the angel who came off the line broken. The one who attempted to be God and expelled his kin from Heaven. Nora does not realize that special is the last thing Castiel wants to be. 

Castiel holds his bandaged hand to his stomach as he approaches the Impala. Dean is stuffing his phone into his pocket. Sam, no doubt. Castiel should ask if the Winchester boys are in need of his assistance.

But he shies away. If he were able to help, that would make him special. And he has no interest in that tonight.

"Where to, Cas?" Dean asks. He expects Castiel to have a bed of his own. A home.

Castiel did have a home, once. Before anyone thought he was special. He was not Michael, Lucifer, Gabriel, or Raphael. No, Castiel was just a Garrison soldier. An anonymous warrior of God.

Was Castiel happy then? Angels cannot feel joy, not like humans. But he cannot remember discontent. He certainly can't remember this hole inside him, a tightness that claws up his throat and stings behind his eyes.

Castiel feels his mouth move, but no sound comes out. Just a short breath, lost and panicked.

Mute, Castiel opens the passenger door of the Impala and sits inside.

Dean takes the driver's seat moments later. Castiel can feel his eyes, but he does not turn to meet them. He feels strange, like he is dangling from the end of a string. A thin, splitting strand, ready to snap at any moment.

"Cas, you got a place you're staying, or...?"

"The Gas-N-Sip," Castiel says. He looks out the passenger window and cradles his wrapped hand closer.

Castiel is not used to bodily pain. But for such a bloody wound, his injury should hurt more than it does. Like the pain he experienced when he dodged that kind stranger's truck in Colorado. That wound did not bleed as much as tonight's. But the injury felt much worse, a coppery twang that shot all the way to his shoulder.

His hand aches now, but the physical pain, he finds, is dulled by the inner turmoil of his emotions. Castiel wishes it were the other way around.

"Got a midnight shift or something?" Dean asks.

"No." The word conveys anger and shame in one perfect syllable.

"You, uh... You're living at the Gas-N-Sip." Dean's words seem like a question, but he already knows the answer.

Castiel should respond. But since Dean has no need of an answer, Castiel does not feel compelled to offer one. He does not say anything, just looks at Nora's front door, lit by the soft glow of an evening lamp.

The Impala roars to life and pulls off into the night. It takes exactly three minutes for Castiel to realize they are going the wrong way.

"Dean," he says, "it's the other direction."

Dean does not say anything. This is unfortunate, because it means Castiel needs to try to get his attention. Trying to get Dean's attention means making eye contact.

Castiel chews inside his cheek, building courage. Then, he forces himself to turn.

In doing so, he realizes that he does not need to get Dean's attention. Castiel was heard. He can tell by the dangerous shine in Dean's eyes and the tight shiver in his jaw.

Castiel knows Dean's anger when he sees it. He's been faced with it many times - sometimes justified, other times not. Right now, Castiel is not sure whether he deserves Dean's temper. Yes or no, he can argue either side.

"Dean, the Gas-N-Sip is the other way," Castiel tries again. Maybe he is misreading this whole situation. 

"Shut it, Cas." So much for that.

The silence stretches on, and Castiel feels uncomfortable. So uncomfortable that he has to look back out the window, to place some distance between himself and this awkwardness.

Dean does not speak to him again until the Impala is parked. Then, he mutters, "Get out."

Castiel observes their surroundings. It is a nondescript motel, like any other the Winchesters have inhabited over the years. This is, no doubt, Dean's dwelling for the night. But why did he bring Castiel here?

"Dean. I can't...afford a room." Something clenches in Castiel's stomach, and he finds it hard to breathe. Shame again, he wonders, or guilt? Are they the same thing? Human emotions are so complex.

Castiel _was_ just paid his weekly wage at the Gas-N-Sip, so perhaps he can afford a room. However, renting a room will eliminate money he's reserved for other living requirements. Food, for one. And hygiene.

He could just take what he needs from the Gas-N-Sip and save his money. But Castiel won't entertain the idea. He is not desperate enough to steal, especially from Nora. She may not be interested in him as a potential mate, but she is still a nice woman who gave him a job and restored his sense of purpose. 

Castiel is grabbed by the elbow before he can relay any of this to Dean. He is led up the sidewalk to a closed door and pushed through the moment it is unlocked.

Inside, it is dark and bare. There is a pea green couch and one king-sized bed.

Castiel frowns and looks over his new surroundings. Does Dean mean for them to stay here together?

"This is generous, Dean," Castiel says. "But I can't-"

"There's towels in the bathroom," Dean cuts him off. "Take a shower. Wash that hand."

"Dean, you don't have to-"

"Stop talking, Cas." Dean's expression softens. "Just...stop, okay?" Something about his look tells Castiel that he would be wise not to argue.

Without a word, Castiel goes into the bathroom and shuts the door.

***

Showering is still strange, and it is harder with only one operational hand. But it is still immensely satisfying.

This is the first time in many weeks he has been able to take a full-length, unrushed shower. He is lucky for the stall at the Gas-N-Sip, a fortunate perk meant for truckers passing through. Its purpose, for customers only, has forced Castiel to rush his showers so not to be caught.

The stall, even with his attentive cleaning, has seen better days. There is mold that just will not stop growing no matter how hard he scrubs. The walls are dirty, and the drain is caked with years of rust.

The motel's shower is like a mansion's by comparison. The water is hot, and the tub is clean. He is able to use it without fear of contracting a skin disease on his feet. And with no customers to worry about, he can just stand peacefully and let the water spill over him. The stress of the day melts off his skin. 

By the time Castiel turns off the water, he is blinking rapidly to fight drowsiness. This human need to sleep is so inconvenient. Castiel rubs his eyes and forces his weary hands to towel himself dry. He fingers through his hair and re-wraps his cut palm.

The last of his strength is spent changing back into his shirt and jeans, wandering out of the bathroom, and stretching out on the couch.

"What are you doing?"

Castiel sighs and closes his eyes. It should be fairly obvious what he is doing. He should try harder to sit up and have a conversation with Dean. But the night's events have left him numb, and with the shower's relaxing effects, he is too exhausted to fight his body's urge to sleep.

"Cas...you’re sleeping in that?"

"It's all I have, Dean," he says. The denim is a hard to get comfortable in, but Castiel is so tired that he knows he will manage. He folds his legs and smothers a yawn under his arm.

"Nope. Come on, grumpy. Let's go."

"Dean," Castiel grumbles. But he already feels hands on his shoulders, pulling him to an upright position despite every effort to weigh himself back down. In times like these, he misses his grace. This human form is far too portable.

"Here ya go, Cas." Castiel narrows groggy eyes at the t-shirt and flannel pants sitting in his lap. "Go change."

Castiel opens his mouth to protest, but he stops when he sees how Dean is looking at him - head tilted and lips tipped hopefully upward.

The expression makes him nod and gather the clothing without further argument. "Thank you, Dean," he relents, then closes the bathroom door behind him.

Everything smells like Dean. Castiel unbuttons his shirt and replaces it with Dean's tee. Immediately, his senses are flooded. He stares at his own expression in the mirror, eyes large and lips parted in wonder. He can feel his heart beating faster, a small tremor in his fingers.

He brings the shirt up to his nose and breathes in deeply. The garment smells like years of wear and wash. The cotton is nearly worn down to threads.

Once Castiel is dressed, he wanders out again. He is squinting wearily, but there is a smile on his face.

Dean gives him the once over. He pauses at the flannel pants hanging an inch too long over Castiel's feet. "A little big on you..." Dean grins. "It's all right, I'll keep it between us."

Castiel does not mind the joke. As an angel, his celestial being was as tall as the Chrysler Building. But in human form, this is his body, and it is indeed slightly shorter than Dean Winchester. How funny.

He nods pleasantly, then returns to the couch and lies down.

Dean stands over him. "There's a bed, you know."

"Your body is taller than mine," Castiel says. He is proud of himself for carrying on the joke. "I'm fine here, Dean."

"Come on, Cas. When's the last time you slept in a bed?"

The question makes no sense. Dean knows exactly when he last slept in a bed. It was at the bunker, before Castiel was asked to leave. After nights spent sleeping in the streets, the bed he napped on felt like Heaven itself. Just thinking of it now makes him smile wistfully.

The sleeping bag at the Gas-N-Sip provides adequate warmth. But the floor is hard, and he often wakes up sore and tired.

"I have not slept on a couch in a long time either," Castiel reasons. "You're leaving town tomorrow, you should sleep on the bed."

"Who says I'm not?" Dean asks.

Castiel frowns at him. Dean raises a brow.

"I... Yes?" Castiel wonders if this is the right answer.

Dean grins and claps him on the shoulder. He apparently approves.

Dean goes to the bed and tears back the sheets. He grumbles something about how they always tuck them in, and who sleeps like that. Castiel does not wait for Dean to finish fiddling with the blankets. He just climbs underneath them, curls up, and closes his eyes.

"Night to you too, Cas," Dean murmurs. Castiel recognizes the amusement in his voice.

"Goodnight, Dean," Castiel replies. Dean maybe joins him right away, or maybe not. Castiel is asleep as soon as Dean's name leaves his lips.

There is nothing for awhile.

Then, Castiel stands in the fields of Heaven, stained with the smoldering corpses of his kin. Thousands, murdered on the pretense of following Raphael.

He stands above them, his expression serene but mutilated. Blood drips from his burned, pocked skin. "Rejoice," he says.

Again, there is nothing. 

Then, the sky is ablaze with streaks of light. Angels, falling. 

Under the howling wind, Castiel hears his name. The multitudes cry and curse him as they fall. Wings shatter and tear. Light explodes into darkness. 

The Heavenly hosts snarl, teeth bared and blades drawn. Their bloody eyes turn towards him.

And then, they descend, ripping his human form apart. It is the last of Jimmy Novak, the tragic and faithful vessel. And the last of Castiel, who wishes he could smile in this moment. Finally, he gets the death that he deserves.

But Castiel cries instead. Human tears smear messy lines down his face. His grace is completely gone, and he will never have it back. All that is left is cowardice and grief.

Castiel cannot even accept his fate with the grim bravery of his station. He can't be an angel, even in death.

"Cas, hey."

He hears Dean's voice, but he does not deserve it. After everything he's done, everything he's become...

"Cas." He feels Dean too. Smells him surrounding his human body.

Castiel lets himself be enveloped. It may be a sign of weakness, but he is too tired to be strong. He curls himself into Dean, sinking against his warmth.

Then, he sees the dark motel room. There is an arm around his waist and breaths against the back of his neck. "...Dean?"

"S'okay, I get 'em too." Dean's voice is soft and drowsy. "Go back to sleep."

He does. Time drifts away.

Until something warm and bright touches his skin. The start of morning peeks through parted curtains.

Castiel squints past the groggy haze lingering over his eyes. He starts to sit up, pausing at the arm still wrapped around his waist. Dean's hand is curled gently over his stomach. 

Castiel looks over his shoulder. Dean's face is even in sleep, and he is breathing out through barely parted lips. Warmth flushes through Castiel's already sleep-heated skin. With a smile, he begins to stand.

Only to tip over clumsily when the arm around his waist tightens. Castiel sinks back to his side with a chuckle. "Dean," he murmurs. He picks at the hand on his stomach. But Dean tightens his grip, hooking his fingers into Castiel's shirt to keep him from moving.

Castiel huffs his frustration. "I have to work," he says.

"Screw work," Dean mutters. "S'early."

"Dean-" Castiel tries again, only to be cut off. Not by words, but by Dean’s lips curled over the nape of his neck, kissing him open mouthed as if they were face to face.

He is only trying to be difficult. Castiel knows how Dean can be - oh, does he know. But, something unexpected happens. Odd, ticklish feelings shoot down Castiel's spine. He shudders before he can stop himself.

The reaction is so sudden, even Dean stops what he is doing and lifts his head. "You ok?" he asks.

Castiel is fine, and he opens his mouth to tell Dean this. But "Yes, I'm okay" isn't what comes out. An entirely different sound does, one that makes Castiel cringe. He looks back at Dean apologetically.

Only, Castiel has nothing to be sorry for. Dean looks surprised at first. But surprise turns into a sleepy smile and not-sleepy-at-all eyes. Castiel knows trouble when he sees it.

This? This is trouble.

"Dean, I... Dean." Castiel wants to say that he isn't kidding about work. He has to be the first one to the Gas-N-Sip. Nora may have positive feelings about him after last night, but he cannot do anything to risk losing this job. Without official identification, there are few places that will hire him. There are even fewer that will have a back room where he can sleep and a shower for free.

But Castiel does not say any of this, because Dean is back on his neck before he can try. His open-mouthed kiss returns, with tongue this time. It rubs a torturously slow circle into his nape. The sensation shivers through Castiel's body. He groans before he can stop himself.

This is not good. Not only is his mental willpower fading, his physical willpower is apparently nonexistent.

It is not a surprise to find that he has woken with the start of an erection. Especially after sharing a bed with someone he cares for, wrapped in his arms and wearing his clothes. But Dean kissing him alone is enough to fully rouse him, blood rushing hot between his legs. 

As if reading Castiel's thoughts, Dean's hand slides down his stomach. His hand seems larger, flat against his abdomen, fingers stretched to touch as much of him as possible. Castiel straightens against Dean's body, a low thrum of anticipation twitching inside him.

Dean's touch drifts casually under the elastic band of his sleep pants. He combs gentle fingers through the curls at the base of his cock. Castiel yelps as if he's been burned.

Dean has touched his vessel in this place before, many times. But that was before Castiel was human, before this heightened sensitivity to stimulation. Now, he barely makes it down the street without staring at every well-endowed woman's breasts. His flesh is so lustful, it only took April, the beautifully cruel reaper, a few minutes of kindness and a hand on his shoulder to seduce him. 

Those were just strangers. Dean Winchester is not.

Dean chuckles against his skin, husked with grogginess. "Damn, I missed you, Cas," he murmurs.

This is an odd thing to say. If Dean misses him, why did he make Castiel leave the bunker in the first place? Castiel was looking forward to learning the ropes of humanity from the Winchesters. And, perhaps, he could have resumed these activities with Dean sooner.

But whatever the reason, it does feel nice to be missed. So nice that Castiel hears himself say, "I missed you too, Dean," before he can wonder about the implications.

He feels Dean's smirk against his neck seconds before Dean's hand curls around his shaft. Castiel groans, pushing his face into his pillow to smother the sound.

As an angel, Castiel was capable of achieving physical pleasure. But his desires were more focused, and his arousal required more deliberate attention. Dean learned how to squeeze Castiel's shaft, how to thumb into the slit of his cock until he felt the smear of precum on his skin. He learned how to dance fingers up the vein on his shaft's underside, how to press it just enough to bite. Even filled with the grace of the Lord, Dean learned how to bring Castiel to such bliss that he still wonders how Dean is not dead at his hands.

Human Castiel only needs a graze of Dean's fingers to writhe with need. So when Dean offers his well-practiced strokes, while his mouth does beautifully filthy things to his neck, Castiel goes incoherent. He bites his cheek hard enough to draw blood, just to keep from ending right here. Castiel presses himself against Dean's body, hot and firm against his back. He feels Dean's arousal tented in his pants.

Castiel's thirst for it only makes him dizzier. "Want you, Dean," he murmurs. 

Dean huffs a laugh against his skin. "Come on, man." He nips between Castiel's shoulder blades.

This isn't the answer Castiel is looking for. Impatiently, he pushes back again. From the groan Castiel gets, he knows exactly what Dean wants.

"Cas..." But Dean is still playing stubborn. It is beyond frustrating.

"I want you, Dean," Castiel repeats, louder.

"Easy, Romeo," Dean mutters. He sits up enough to meet Castiel's glare. "Look. You're human, all right? You're..." He chews on his lip, obviously struggling. "It won't be easy like it was before. I could hurt you. Understand?"

Castiel does not understand. He had intercourse with April, and then she tried to kill him. What could be more painful than that?

"Please, Dean," Castiel says. 

Dean stares at Castiel like he's waiting for him to reconsider. But no issue is raised.

After a moment, Dean nods and rolls to the other side of the bed. He digs a hand into the top shelf on the nightstand and returns with a tube of some sort. Castiel squints at it. KY Jelly. Yes, that is a type of human lubricant.

Castiel tilts his head. "Why did you have that in your drawer?"

"Huh?" Dean unscrews the top.

"You had that in the nightstand. Like you knew-"

"What? Nah." Dean lifts his eyes for a second, then tosses the covers back and slides down the bed. "Get on your side."

Castiel frowns at him. But he does as asked, lying back down. He does not have to wait long. Dean pulls at his flannel pants, and Castiel lifts himself enough that Dean can remove them completely. His body responds instantly to being exposed, goosebumps on his legs contrasted with his erection blushed warm and firm.

It is only in the pause that he realizes Dean is looking at him, mouth open just enough to let his tongue wander over his lower lip.

Dean meets his gaze with a sheepish smile. "So, uh, where were we?"

"You were going to fuck me," Castiel says.

Dean frowns, then gapes a bit. "You..." He raises a finger, as if about to make a point. Then, he lowers the hand and clears his throat. "Whoever's teaching you dirty talk, I owe 'em a beer."

Castiel thinks about this. "I believe it was you," he replies. "I've internalized it."

Dean looks both impressed and proud.

"Yeah, well you're about to internalize a whole lot more of me. Heh." Dean grins at his own joke, which Castiel does not get. He tilts his head with confusion.

Dean's smirk becomes a disappointed shrug. "Never mind," he says.

He sinks back down Castiel's body and places a hand on his hip. Just this is enough to make Castiel jump. Dean chuckles. "Easy, tiger," he murmurs. "I'll go slow."

"There's no need to-"

"Split your legs. There you go." Dean's mouth touches the small of his back as his hands ease between his thighs. Castiel's body twitches, anxious and excited. He can feel his pulse racing through in his veins.

"Damn, Cas. I kinda like you like this."

Castiel frowns at the teasing. "It's not my fault that I'm... Well, it is, actually. Metatron. The fall. But-"

"Take a compliment, buddy." Dean places one slicked finger between Castiel's ass cheeks, right against his entrance. Castiel shudders and shuts up. "You ready?"

Castiel nods. Yes, is he ever ready.

Dean pushes into him, just past the ring of muscle. Castiel was not aware of this circle before. How tight it is naturally, and how much the lubricant is needed to make it soft enough for just one finger to press inside.

He was also not aware that it is the human body's instinct to tense against new things. Even when they're wanted.

Castiel feels the pain Dean spoke of. It is not like the cut on his hand, and it is nowhere near as paralyzing as the emotional pain of the previous night. He at least has the comfort of knowing Dean, and knowing that they have done this before with no ill-effect.

This knowledge helps him to relax enough that Dean can get the second knuckle into him, then the third. "You all right?" Dean asks.

Castiel nods mutely. He does not trust his voice.

Dean lets the finger circle, gently stroking his insides and urging them to loosen. Castiel winces instinctively and tries to concentrate on other things. The motel’s ugly wallpaper. How Dean will feel moving inside him. 

Dean tests a second finger against his hole. Strange, the pain is palpable, but Castiel's body has new reactions to Dean touching him. It hurts, but it also pleases. Just the feel of Dean's two fingers scissoring makes his body shiver with anticipation.

"You like that, huh?" Dean asks.

Yes, Castiel likes this very much. He nods again, more insistent.

Dean chuckles. "Think you can handle one more?"

"Yes, Dean," Castiel replies. His voice is low and raw.

"...Damn. Okay." 

The third finger is easier to handle than the first two. By now, Castiel knows what it feels like to have the pressure inside him. He feels nice and slick. The pain eases faster than before.

Castiel wants more, he decides. He presses back on Dean's fingers, and they push up into him, stroking previously untouched places. Castiel's breath catches in his throat.

"God, I need to fuck you," Dean murmurs. Castiel likes the sentiment. But the word choice makes him glance over his shoulder with distaste.

Dean meets his disapproval with a shrug. "Fine. Sorry. You ready or what?"

"Are _you_ ready?"

Dean raises a brow. "Are you...teasing me?"

"I'm asking a question." Castiel smiles, giving himself away.

Dean licks his lips, then slides back up the bed. "You bet your ass I'm ready." Given what Dean is preparing to do, this is an odd choice of words. 

"Relax," Dean tells him. Castiel nods and exhales slowly. But he sucks the breath right back when he feels Dean's lubed cock against him. An unexpected panic hits. It does not matter that they have done this many times. This is Castiel's first time with Dean as a human. Will he be capable of it, like he was before? Will it hurt?

Will Dean be pleased with him?

"It's okay, Cas." Dean kisses his shoulder. "I've got you."

Of course he does. Dean has always had him.

When Dean presses into him, it hurts. Oh, does it hurt. Castiel bites his lip and turns towards his pillow.

"You all right?"

"Yes," Castiel grits. The word is muffled by fabric. Shallowly, he breathes into it, his face flushed with effort, trying to calm his racing pulse.

Past the head, Dean pauses. Castiel can tell stopping is difficult for him. Dean's hand on his stomach shakes. "You sure?" he asks. "I’ll stop if-"

"I'm okay, Dean," Castiel replies, closing his eyes. Dean is not allowed to stop. There is calm in his determination, his focus on a purpose. Castiel breathes deeply, and his strange human body answers. The tension wanes, as does the pain. Everything fades to a fuzzy warmth.

He feels more of Dean inside him. "Fuck, Cas," Dean whispers. "You're tight."

Castiel does not know why his body would have changed from when it was a vessel. But now that his consciousness fully inhabits the body, perhaps his muscle reaction is different. Perhaps, Castiel's very experience of pleasure has evolved because he can fully feel it, in human terms.

If Dean notices a difference, it must be so. Dean knows him better than anyone.

Dean begins to move inside him. As he does, he winds his hand around Castiel's cock again. Castiel is torn between moving back or forward. "Dean..." he says the name before he realizes it is hovering on his tongue.

"Mmhm." It's not the most eloquent of replies. But Dean's mouth is on Castiel's neck again, nipping with his lips. For this, the response is forgiven.

Castiel cranes his head back awkwardly, eyes glossy. Dean smirks when they lock stares, but it is not a smug look. His mouth shakes slightly at a corner. He lifts his head to kiss Castiel, and Castiel reaches back with his bandaged hand. His fingers scratch through the soft hairs at the base of Dean's scalp.

Dean thumbs up under the ridged head of his shaft, and thrusts into him at the same time, angled deep and exact. Castiel slips from his kiss with a weak moan. Color fills his cheeks, and he can barely open his eyes. Every inch of him feels like it is shaking, outside and in.

Dean's chuckle vibrates on his cheek. "You like that, Cas?" Castiel is in no condition to answer him, but he doesn't have to. Dean is filling him again, harder, perfect. Castiel near-whimpers, arching in his arms.

"You do,” Dean murmurs. “I know you.”

Castiel makes a soft sound. The words touch him deeper than any physical stroke can. He feels short of breath, but he still lifts his head. Dean's name barely slips out before he is being kissed again. Castiel’s mouth opens for him on a desperate gasp, and then his breath is totally stolen. Dean tastes his mouth, and Castiel wraps his bandaged hand around the back of his neck. It's the only thing he can hold, the only thing to tie him to this moment.

But Castiel can't last, not with the way Dean's tongue is claiming every ridge of his mouth. And not with Dean's hand pumping him in hard, quick fists. He finds himself trapped between the tight grip and Dean’s cock nudged right into his prostate.

Castiel jerks in his arms, toe-curled and lost. He can't even complain about blasphemy when Dean hisses, "Jesus," against his cheekbone and comes.

Castiel does not sleep, but he isn't awake either. As the minutes stretch on, his mind blanks. Work, Nora, angels - all of them are gone. He is warm and spent. If he never moves again, Castiel is convinced he'll be forever content.

Slowly, he becomes aware of Dean's cock still buried inside him. It is instinct to press back. Dean's balls are soft against his skin.

The movement earns a tired chuckle and a kiss in his hair. "Hey, sparky," Dean mumbles. He gives Castiel's shaft a squeeze. The fingers are wet and cooling but not altogether unpleasant. The cum makes them slick, a good feeling even to a cock once spent.

Castiel's head swims. He is not used to all of these feelings - safety, calm, sadness, need. They are overwhelming.

He rocks his hips back further, his weight settling firmly against Dean's waist. Dean chuckles again. "What're you up to?" he asks.

Castiel turns to try to catch his eyes. Dean's are closed. His cheeks are a dull pink, and his lips are a deeper red, swollen from kissing him.

What is he feeling? Happiness. Sorrow. Pride. A touch of envy? His cock twitches with interest between Dean's weary fingers.

Dean smirks and cracks a sleepy eye open. "You horny son of a bitch," he murmurs. "Thought you were human now."

"I am," Castiel says. Dean should know this.

He only has one eye open, but Dean still manages to roll it at him. "What's with the extra mojo then?"

Castiel does not know. All he can say is, "I want you."

Dean chuckles. "You want me, huh?" He gives Castiel's shaft another squeeze. This time, his weary fingers are more alert. His thumb dips into the sensitive groove just under the head of Castiel's cock. Castiel sucks in a breath.

"Oh yeah," Dean says, sounding pleased with himself. "You do want me."

Despite the drowsy voice, Castiel has Dean's interest now. His hand returns to work, fisting him with slow, intent strokes. It doesn't take long for Castiel to get it up again. Dean hums amusement against Castiel's shoulder. Apparently, this is not normal for humans. But then, Castiel has never been normal.

Neither has Dean.

Castiel shifts back, the grind of Dean's waist into his ass near-painful. Dean grunts softly. He moves, as if to pull away from him. But Castiel reaches his injured hand back to grab his side.

Castiel's arm is at an awkward angle, but Dean still obeys the silent order with a smile. "Tell me what you want, Cas," he says.

Castiel does not know how to tell him. But he shows him by straightening his body. He goes as rigid as he can, every inch of him pulled tense and shaking. Right to the muscles wrung tight around Dean's half-erect cock.

"Oh, fuck." He definitely has Dean's attention now. 

Castiel is gratified by the way Dean shivers against him, his body shocked out of its relaxed state. He can actually feel Dean's cock thickening inside him. The building pressure makes his own arousal somehow more sensitive in Dean's hand.

Dean barely has to move. He is already to the hilt. The slightest motion touches that place inside Castiel that Dean knows how to find with ease. Castiel sucks in a breath. 

His waning control is not helped by Dean's mouth touching the side of his throat. Castiel expects a kiss, or maybe a gentle nibble of his lips. He is entirely unprepared for Dean's teeth to latch and worry into his heightened nerves. Castiel moans, the pain shocking and blissful. He turns his head, Dean's nose on his jaw.

"Show that bitch what she's missing," Dean murmurs. Castiel has no clue what he means, but he can't ask. Dean traps his skin between his teeth again, stroking the rapidly bruising patch with his tongue. Something slips out of Castiel's mouth, a sound almost like a question, higher-pitched and shaking.

Dean is getting used to this new, close-press kind of fucking. His hips move in quick, rapid thrusts, a relentlessly firm drumming against his prostate. Castiel trembles in his arms. His control is close to snapping, but he can’t duck away to alleviate the pressure. Moving forward only leads him to the arm coiled tight around his waist, and the thumb dragging a gentle nail up the vein under his cock.

"Dean," Castiel whispers. It's the only word he can say. The only word that matters.

Dean answers by sucking firmly on the swollen welt on his neck. The skin is so raw, its pain sings deliciously through Castiel's veins. His eyes roll back helplessly. He's supposed to be lasting longer this time, making Dean feel everything he feels. He isn't supposed to fall apart, not yet. Not. Yet.

Castiel is gone. He is only vaguely aware of Dean’s low grunt against his neck, seconds before fresh warmth sinks inside him.

"Damn it, Cas," Dean murmurs. His weight is heavy and perfect against Castiel’s back.

Castiel's too-human heart skips in his chest.

***

Nora is not sure what to expect when she arrives at the Gas-N-Sip in the morning. It was a strange night.

Her date was a total disaster, first of all. No more blind dates with these losers. Her friends are just trying to help, she knows. Nora _has_ been lonely. It's hard to go out and meet people when you have a shop to run and a baby to take care of. But their track record on introducing her to guys is 0-for-all. It isn't worth the strain on her time, heart, or wallet.

Then, there was Steve, in a near-panic over Tanya's slight fever. He even managed to cut his hand somehow, poor guy. She never did get the full scoop on what happened…

Nora has to admit, she worried when she first hired Steve. He seemed like a nice person. No experience on a cash register, but he was attentive and eager to learn. Still, it was strange hiring a guy with no I.D. who insisted on being paid in cash. She wondered if he was on the run from something.

But Nora needed the help, and he did a great job at the store. So great that Nora decided he was just a sweet man down on his luck. Hey, everyone had rough times, some worse than others. Steve was a God-send, and if she could help him get back on his feet? Well, that made her happy.

She could tell things were off between them last night, though. Nora meant to compliment Steve when she told him he was special. It was true, after all. Steve cared more than anyone Nora knew - about the job, about her daughter, about...well, everything. 

But Nora felt like she hurt Steve somehow. When she told him he was special, his eyes seemed to die. It was like being told he was special was the worst thing in the world.

She expects them to be on odd footing when she arrives. But Steve is pleasant as ever. He makes sure she sees that the new merchandise has been set out, the morning newspapers are in the correct racks, and he even cleaned a mess made by someone's daughter in the ladies room.

Wonderful, too-good-to-be-true Steve.

Nora approaches Steve as he finishes stocking the front counter displays. He is rubbing his neck while checking the rows of gum and candy bars. The activity seems to fascinate him.

"Looks great," Nora says, coming up behind him.

Steve looks at her thoughtfully. "Yes. But...all of the oranges, reds, and yellows are grouped on one side. You see, with the M&M Peanuts and the Twizzlers. The other side is blues and greens. Your winterfresh gum and peppermint patties. Is this acceptable? Should there be more variety?"

Is there anyone on the planet who would care as much about the candy display at a gas station?

Nora smiles and touches his elbow. "I think it's perfect, Steve. Really."

Steve glances at her hand, then at her. He nods. "Oh, good. Thank you, Nora."

"No, thank you," Nora says. She watches Steve lower his hand and continue to his next task.

But Steve turns a bit too slowly. Nora sees something. Red and raw, the mark stands proudly just beneath his shirt collar. 

Nora gapes after him in wonder. Is that... Does Steve have a hickey on his neck?

*The End*

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I'm on [Tumblr](http://daisy4days.tumblr.com) if you want to say hi ^^v


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